"They just don't make cars like they used to,"
asserted Dave Rankin, reaching along the Okay Diner's counter for the salt.

Gus slowly buttered a roll. "That doesn't mean they
aren't better."

"I'll say," put in Doc Hockenjoss. "That '59 six I
bought from my brother-in-law is more automobile than any you ever went
courting in, Dave."

Rankin grunted, his sallow cheeks working. "Don't mean
that far back. Take that '55 V-8 I've got. It has 60,000 miles on it and it
guzzles oil. But I'll bet you have trouble with your car on this trip 'fore
I do."

"The boondocks," responded Rankin. "Doc knows a
fishing spot in Cortway County where they bite on bare hooks."

The veterinarian nodded, eyes watering as he downed
scalding coffee. "So far out you almost can't get there from here. I'm
taking my car so we won't be stranded when his breaks down."

"Waste of gas," grunted Rankin. "It won't be my car
that conks out."

Both men got off their stools.

"In case I don't see you before you leave Friday,"
said Gus, "and in case you both get there - good fishing!"

Gus had hardly opened the shop on Thursday morning
when a car rolled up at the Model Garage. Rankin stuck his glossy bald pate
out.

"Got a small job, Gus. Can I park it in a corner some
place?" "Back of that pickup," said Gus.

The retired grocer parked his battered hardtop and
hitched his plump figure out of the car. "It ain't much, just the ammeter
bouncing. Could you fix it fast?" "Maybe it's only a loose connection." Gus quickly
checked the battery terminals and connections at the ammeter and voltage
regulator. All were sound, but with the engine running the ammeter needle
flicked back and forth.

"Sorry, Dave. It could be anything from the voltage
regulator to an out-of-round commutator or bad brush." "Try a new regulator,
will you?" asked Rankin, his eyes on the door. "Expecting somebody?" asked
Gus. "Eh? Oh, no. Could you hurry it up?"

Finding the regulator points oxidized, poorly aligned,
and filed thin, Gus installed a new unit. When it was connected, he started
the engine again. The ammeter fluttered off the pin to full charge, fell
back, flickered as before. "No good. Have to check some more."

Rankin nodded glumly. "Okay. Don't want to be stuck
with a dead battery out in the sticks. Er, Gus - could we keep this just
between us?"

"Three weeks after, it quit charging again. Mechanic
out west said the commutator was oil-fouled. Rubbish - the car doesn't lose
any oil. But he got it working - till it quit yesterday."

"I'll check it out," promised Gus.

"Not a word to Dave, huh?"

"Drive the car around back," returned Gus, "and he'll
never know."

Leaving Stan, his helper, to remove Rankin's
generator, Gus checked the fan belt, battery terminals, and charging circuit
on Doc's car. All were sound. The battery was low enough to take a hefty
charging rate, but a test meter showed nothing coming through, even with the
regulator's field terminal grounded.

Disconnecting the generator lead, Gus scratched it on
the block. There was no spark. With the engine off, he felt the commutator
through an opening in the generator housing. It was oily. Gus removed the
generator and opened it on the bench. Commutator and brushes were oil-fouled
- a strange thing since this generator had no oil cup. He cleaned the parts
with carbon tet and found brushes and springs in good condition. Reassembled
and run on the test block, the generator charged normally.

Leaving Stan to re-install it on Doc's car, Gus turned
to Rankin's generator. Outside it was thick with oily dirt but, to his
amazement, the internal parts were clean and in good order. When belted to
the bench rig, Rankin's generator charged steadily.

Gus rubbed his nose with a knuckle.

One generator, from a clean engine, had an oil-soaked
commutator. Another from an engine covered with greasy dirt worked fine -
when not in the car.

Putting Rankin's generator back on, Gus made an
instrument check; the test meter flickered like the ammeter. As he
disconnected it, something splashed against his cheek.

It was oil, perhaps flung up by the swirling fan
stream. Gus frowned thoughtfully. The oil leak Rankin chose to ignore
annoyed him. But what could it have to do with the charging circuit?

He got down on a crawler with a drop light and slid
under the car. The bottom of the engine was encrusted with oily muck. It
looked cleanest under the front main bearing, where oil was probably leaking
past a bad seal. The crankcase seemed oddly atilt, low in front. Flashing
the light on the engine mounts showed fragments of oil-rotted rubber
clinging to one. The others lacked even that much of the pads meant to
cushion the engine.

Gus rolled out and stood up, staring down at the
forward-slanted engine. Then he leaned far over the back of the engine
block. Between the canted engine and the fire-wall, the braided bonding
cable was stretched tautly, all but a few strands torn free.

"Thought it would," grunted Gus. He pointed to the
almost severed strap. "There's the intermittent ground in this one.
Vibration probably grounded the block now and then through the metal parts
of the engine mounts, so it charged part time. Put on a new bonding cable,
Stan."

Just as Gus had his pipe going nicely, Doc Hockenjoss
returned. The lanky veterinarian raised skeptical eyebrows over Gus's
account of the trouble.

"It can't be oil on the commutator. Nobody's put oil
in this engine since the generator was last cleaned."

"You sure of that?" asked Gus.

"You bet. Nobody checks the oil but me. I like to do
it with the engine cold, to get the true level."

"You try to oil the generator?" "Quit kidding, Gus.
You know that there's a sealed bearing in that one."

"Okay," said Gus. He hung a rag over the open
generator slots. "Now show me just how you checked the oil."

"What's to show?" grumbled Doc. He grasped the
dipstick, which stuck up a few inches behind the generator. "I pull this up,
slant it forward to get it past this whopping air filter that's in the way,
and take it out."

He held up the oily dipstick, then shoved it back in
with a snort. Gus lifted the rag off the generator and spread it out. On it
were two oil spots.

"That's it," nodded Gus. "Under that big air cleaner,
you never saw it happen. But every time you checked the oil the dipstick
dripped on or near the commutator. A good service-station man holds a rag
under the dipstick."

Doc stared. "Gus, you won't . . ."

"When you doctor one horse, do you tell another?"
asked Gus.

A week later, as Gus was finishing a big dinner,
Rankin and Doc walked into the Okay Diner.

"Have a good trip?" asked Gus.

"Swell fishing," said Rankin. "But our bet turned out
a draw."

Hockenjoss nodded. "Neither of us had any car trouble,
thanks to you."

Rankin's plump face split in a grin. "Yeah, we told
each other, Gus. I'd like those engine mounts fixed now."

"Any time," said Gus. He stood up, stretched, and
walked to the door. "Hey, Tom," boomed Doc. "Doesn't Gus have to pay any
more?"